chapter 88

In Which Jackson Would Benefit from an Oven Mitt

Eeeeerrrrgh! Too hot!” Stimple threw his piece of glass down. He blew on his hands, flapping them in the air like a chicken trying to give you a makeover. Jackson looked down at the glass. The persimmon color was glowing like it was on fire. The copper wire surrounding it had straightened itself out and the words shone bright like fire.

“I think it’s time, Stimple.” Jackson grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it out of his shorts, hiding his hand underneath. He opened his palm and picked up the hot glass, his T-shirt protecting his hand. He walked over to the tree and hung the glass up on a branch.

A bright, white light filled the sky.